Shy
by Genevievey
Summary: [My Fair Lady] What happened after the curtain falls? It was a Broadway show before it was a movie. This is my take on the story. Reviews and constructive criticism are very welcome


**My Fair Lady Fan-Fiction**

"Goodbye, Professor Higgins. I shall not be seeing you again."

And with that, Miss Eliza Doolittle closed the conservatory door behind her, smouldering with rage as she stormed out of the house, managing a polite nod to old Mrs Higgins.

"Thank you ever so much for your hospitality, I shall be back soon to get my things."

Henry Higgins stood, thunderstruck, staring at the closed door. He walked falteringly across the room, calling, "Mother! Mother!"

Mrs Higgins entered through the same door which Eliza had left by a minute before, to find her son in a state of shock and vulnerability that she had never seen before.

"What is it, Henry? What has happened?"

The man continued to stare into space with disbelief.

"She's gone…" he murmured, more to himself than to his mother.

The old woman's face softened, and she said gently, "Of course, dear. What did you expect?"

Henry looked at his mother, only half hearing her.

"What am I to do?"

"Do without, I suppose," shrugged Mrs Higgins; she had been the one to instil logic in her son.

Shaking his head as if to wake himself up, Henry nodded decisively and puffed out his chest with self-importance.

"And so I shall! If the Higgins oxygen burns up her little lungs, let her seek some stuffiness that suits her. She's an owl sickened by a few days of my sunshine. Very well, let her go! I can do without her! I can do without anybody! I have my own soul! My own spark of divine fire!"

The man marched out of the room, slammed the door behind him, then burst back in, picking up his hat from the table, before leaving in the same manner.

Mrs Higgins watched him go silently. Raising her hands, she began to applaud quietly, and murmured, "Bravo, Eliza."

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Henry Higgins had walked briskly home from his mother's house, and nearly collided with several pedestrians on the way. He was in a state of shock, anger, and self-deceptive confidence.

Running up the steps of his house at 27A Wimpole Street, he tried the door, and finding it locked, began to curse, not so much at the extra effort of having to find his key than at the entire situation.

"Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!" Pausing for a moment in shocked realisation, he muttered, "I've grown accustomed to her face…"

♫

With a despairing sigh, the Professor took out his key and pressed it slowly into the lock, twisting it until he heard a hollow click. Anyone would have thoughtthe man had just returned from a funeral.

The house was empty. Colonel Pickering was no doubt in search of Eliza, and Mrs Pearce was…oh, probably shopping for something, but what did it matter? What did anything matter?

Higgins walked around his study thoughtfully, looking at the familiar items, which all seemed to make him think of Eliza.

The sofa she had sat on for hours repeating her vowels, the poetry book he had made her read from, the xylophone he had tapped out rhythms on…

Wandering over to the instrument on his desk and picking up the mallet, he recalled the conversation he had had with Eliza some half an hour ago.

When asked whether she had wondered what he would do without her, she had replied,

"_Well, you have my voice on your gramophone. When you feel lonely without me, you can turn it on. It's got no feelings to hurt."_

And he had said,

"_I can't turn your soul on,"_ without knowing how much he meant it. At the time he had thought he was merely coaxing her, as he did with all women he had the misfortune to encounter.

But the young woman had not fallen for his ploy, replying,

"_Oh, you are a devil. You can twist the heart in a girl as easily as some can twist her arms to hurt her. What am I to come back for?"_

And in failing to convince Eliza, it would seem he had lost her.

Higgins was in such a state of desperation that he resorted to taking a woman's advice. He wandered over to one of his several gramophones, and as he flicked the switch, Eliza's voice filled the room.

"_I want to be a lady in a flower shop, 'stead of selling flowers at the corner of Tottenham Court Road. But they won't take me 'less I talk more genteel. 'e said 'e could teach me. Well, 'ere I am ready ter pay, not askin' any favour – and 'e treats me as if I was dirt. I know what lessons cost, and I'm ready ter pay."_

It was so oddly painful, hearing her voice now, hearing her speaking before so much had happened, before anything had changed. But things had changed.

Ever since that fateful day when Miss Eliza Doolittle had traipsed through the study door and into his life, ostrich-feather hat and all, his calm and orderly life had been thrown helter-skelter into oblivion. Not only the stress of teaching a cockney guttersnipe the majesty and grandeur of the English language, but the social and emotional complications it entailed.

It been unexpectedly fun to spend time with the girl, and with Pickering, and sharing her feeling of triumph when she had mastered "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain," had been admittedly rather enjoyable.

He had grown to be fond of Eliza, as frustrating as she could be. And now he was alone.

Henry Higgins was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't hear the study door open gently and the young woman tiptoe in. Eliza watchedthe man seated on the stool, his head in his hands. Her expression softened; she was now certain she had been correct in asking the maid to take her suitcases upstairs.

"_It's almost irresistible. She's so deliciously low, so horribly dirty."_

Gently, the woman reached out, turned off the gramophone, and said softly, "I washed my face and hands before I came, I did."

Slowly,Higgins straightened up, lifting his head from his hands and turning to see for certain that his earth had begun to spin again.

If he could have let himself, his face would have radiated unmistakable relief and joy. If he could have let himself, he would have run to her. But he had some pride. Instead, he stood up slowly with a contented sigh.

"Eliza? Where the devil are my slippers?"

From anyone else, Eliza would have taken this as a dismissal. But she had seen the look in his eyes that he hadn't quite had time to mask. She released the breath she hadn't really been aware she was holding, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Henry held her gentle gaze for a moment, until he found the honesty too much.

Accepting this, the woman looked down, murmuring, "I think they're just over there, where they seem to have remained since I hurled them at you last night."

"What?" His face was blank, unable to do much more than stare at the wonder in front of him.

"Your slippers; they're over there next to the sofa."

"Oh, right," nodded Higgins, understanding, then chuckled at his own pathetic reply. Eliza smiled; glad to have something to laugh at.

Straightening his jacket, which was already straight,the man smiled, "It's a great pleasure to see you again, Miss Doolittle. I say, you wouldn't like to stay for tea, would you? I'm sure Mrs Pearce could have a room set up for you without much ado."

Eliza wasn't sure whether sure to smile or sigh; so instead did both. He hadn't changed a bit. And she was glad.

"Thank you, Professor, I've already had the maid take my belongings up to my room." This was their game, after all.

"Very good, well…" Henry found himself at a most uncharacteristic loss for words.

"I'll go and set up my room, then, shall I?" suggested the woman, coming to his rescue.

"Yes, good idea."

Eliza turned to go, and as she reached the door, he called after her,

"Eliza?"

"Yes?"

Henry stopped, his mouth open, and seemed to think the better of whatever he had been about to say.

"Uh…that's…that's a nice hat," he blurted, before pretending to busy himself sorting papers on his desk.

The woman hid a smile, and left the room, closing the study door behind her. She slowly made her way up the stairs to the landing, coming to terms with what had happened. Opening the door and entering her old bedroom, Eliza sighed contentedly, and began to hum a familiar tune as she opened her suitcase.

Downstairs in his study, Higgins sat with his feet propped up on his desk and his hat tipped to one side in a ridiculous manner. He wore a lazy, contented smile; obviously deep in some not particularly troublesome thought.

Picking up the mallet from next to the xylophone, Henry slid it down the scale, provoking a pleasant sound. Next he tapped out the rhythm, "How kind of you to let me come." The man grinned, stood up, and did a quick fandango step with delight.

"The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!"

Eliza flopped down on her bed, tired. All her clothes and things were back in their rightful places in the wardrobe and on the dresser. Now that everything was more or less settled, she could relax for a moment.

She was exhausted. The last 24 hours had been a roller coaster ride of emotions for the girl, and feeling anything very strongly can be fatiguing. Experiencing contradictory emotions over a short period of time can be shattering.

There had been many times over the past day when Eliza had felt at a total loss, despairing. She remembered how it had felt to kneel by the costermongers' fire in Covent Garden that morning, when they hadn't recognised her, and asked if they could hail her a taxi. She had felt so very alone.

Eliza had wanted desperately to go back to Higgins; for despite his selfish, pompous lack of consideration for anyone but himself, she held him in high respect. The main motivation for her trying so hard to learn, even when utterly exhausted, was that she longed for praise from her teacher.

She remembered how she had felt when she had come downstairs ready for the ball, dressed up in the stunning gown. Smiling at her in his usual gentlemanly fashion, Colonel Pickering had said,

"_Miss Doolittle, you look beautiful. Don't you think so, Higgins?"_

And for a moment she had been filled with hope that he might agree. It shouldn't have surprised her that all he said was, _"Not bad. Not bad at all."_

And she had been disappointed, although she knew it had been foolish to hope.

Still, perhaps it was a good thing he hadn't complimented her, for if he had she would have glowed so bright that the chandelier would have appeared dim in comparison.

Then she had been in such a rage, when Henry had found her at his mother's house. He had been so infuriatingly self-important, conceited, so inconsiderate of her feelings. He didn't deserve her forgiveness.

But when faced with the idea of marrying Freddy Eynsford-Hill, Eliza found that she couldn't have been happy with the young man, no matter how hard he'd try to please her.

So she had nervously wandered back to 27A Wimpole Street, and found Henry Higgins— proud, independent Henry Higgins— sitting listening to her voice on the gramophone.

She had to admit, she _had_ hoped it would turn out that way. She didn't know what she would have done if he had been getting along fine without her. Eliza sighed at the thought.

But what was there to sigh about? He _hadn't_ been getting along fine without her; it had looked like he was missing her terribly.

Eliza stood up, the smile returning to her face. Everything was fine again; everything was nearly as it had been before. She just hoped that things would be _slightly_ different than they had been. She based this fragile hope on the look she had seen in Henry's eyes when he had seen her standing in the doorway.

She knew it was foolish to hope, and that only this morning she had fiercely denied wanting anything to do with the man, let alone wanting him to love her, but…well…

Looking in the mirror, she noticed she was blushing. Oh, she'd have to sort out her feelings later. They, and the whole situation for that matter, were terribly complicated.

But in the meantime, she would focus on relaxing and laughing and spending time with the Professor, and dear old Colonel Pickering. Commanding herself to be cheerful, Eliza checked her appearance in the mirror, straightened her hair a little then strolled out of the room, whistling.

It was with a weary sigh that Colonel Pickering closed the door behind him. Night was falling, and he was forced to return to his friend empty-handed. It was a dreadful feeling, and he knew that Higgins would be most disappointed, whether he'd admit to it or not.

He would miss Eliza too. This morning, when Mrs Pearce had said,

"_I do hope you can bring her back, Colonel. Professor Higgins shall miss her."_

he had replied, _"Professor Higgins shall miss her? Blast Professor Higgins! I shall miss her!"_

It had become obvious this morning that Henry was terribly agitated and disturbed by Eliza's absence. For a start, he couldn't find anything, and didn't know what appointments he had; but there was obviously more to it than that. Of course, it was understandable that he should be fond of the young woman, after spending so much time with her.

Sometimes it had troubled Pickering the way the Professor had treated Eliza. Yet, she seemed fairly forgiving, and for some reason held the man in great respect; eager to please him whenever she could. She had tried so hard for him.

But obviously the Professor had gone a little too far in ignoring her last night. After all, it had really been her triumph as much as his own, possibly more so. Pride seemed to be one of Higgins' main faults.

_Never mind_, thought the Colonel, _only this morning he was raving about how frustrating women can be. Now he can go back to his 'ordinary' lifestyle._

But the old man still felt sorry for his friend as he wandered down the hallway, lost in thought.

"Someone's head restin' on my knee, warm and tender as he can be, who takes good care of me. Oh, wou—Oh, hullo Colonel!" Eliza beamed, gliding down the stairs to greet him.

Pickering stared incredulously. "Eliza? B-B-But I thought…I thought…"

The young woman chuckled. "Oh, yes, that. It's more or less all sorted out. I'm back now, and the Professor and I are pretty much reconciled. I'm sorry for any nuisance I've caused you."

"Not at all, my dear. But…goodness, this is a surprise! So you're still with us?"

"It would certainly seem that way."

"My, that's splendid! I daresay we'll all be much more settled now that you've returned. I do hope there's no hard feelings…"

Eliza smiled at the concerned expression on the man's face.

"Oh, not at all, Colonel! Would you like some tea, or perhaps a drop of port? You look like you've had a hard day."

"Sounds lovely! I'll join you and Higgins in a moment, I've just got to put my jacket upstairs. Jolly good. Jolly good, I say…" he wandered off, murmuring to himself.

Eliza shook her head in amusement, and then strolled down the hall to the study, whistling.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, Higgins old chap, isn't this splendid?" beamed the Colonel, sipping on his second glass of port. "We're delighted to have you back with us, Miss Doolittle. Aren't we, Higgins?"

"Yes, of course," replied the man absently, gazing around the study.

Eliza looked down. Oh, couldn't he just smile at her, or something?

"What is it, Higgins? You seem rather preoccupied."

"Oh, I'm just thinking how devilishly dull it's going to be around here, now that our project is over. Whatever are we going to do with ourselves?"

"Well, I don't suppose relaxing would do us any harm. I daresay everyone's nerves have been raw as anything lately. I think a good long sleep is a splendid idea, don't you? Or perhaps a holiday?" suggested Pickering, draining his glass and placing it on the table.

"A holiday? Whatever would I want to go on a holiday for?"

"For the fun of it. Don't you agree, Miss Doolittle?"

The woman nodded. She definitely needed some time to relax.

"Well, then, it's two against one."

"And no, Professor, your vote does _not_ count for two people," added Eliza, with a wry smile.

The man rolled his eyes, sighing, "Well, if we must go on this dashed holiday, where is it going to be?"

"Brighton," said Pickering, looking to Eliza, who nodded in agreement.

"Brighton?" Henry sounded unconvinced. He looked across at Eliza, who was beginning to show signs of hope. She seemed a little quiet this evening, so in an attempt to cheer her he sighed, "Well, if we must…"

"Brilliant!" beamed the Colonel. "When shall we go?"

"This weekend; that way we'll have all week to plan the wretched thing."

"And you'll have all week to come up with an excuse not to go," replied Eliza evenly, her eyes twinkling.

"How could you accuse me of such a thing?" the man retorted with mock hurt, but said in the next breath, "Oh, I'm feeling devilish low. I'm sure if I don't go to bed right now I'll catch a dreadful cold."

"It's alright, we'll excuse you. Goodnight, Professor."

Taking Eliza's cue, Higgins stood up, yawned and said, "Well, goodnight, Pickering. Goodnight, Eliza."

"Goodnight, Professor. I do so hope you feel better in the morning."

Higgins snorted and left the room.

"By Jove, I feel rather exhausted too. Would you mind terribly if I went off to bed?" asked Pickering, standing up.

"Not at all; you do look tired. Goodnight Colonel," Eliza replied, taking all the empty glasses from the table and moving them close together for the maids to pick up.

"Goodnight, Miss Doolittle. I'll see you in the morning."

Now alone, Eliza sat, staring into space. A holiday in Brighton. She remembered the last time the three had gone on a trip to Brighton together. It had been in preparation for the Ascot Race; they had gone shopping and bought a beautiful gown. Deciding jewellery would be a nice touch; Higgins had bought her a small gold ring with a pearl set in it, and two tiny diamonds. She had treasured it. The same ring she had hurled at him last night, in her rage.

It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know where it was. Standing up, Eliza looked around the room. It wasn't on the floor, where she had left it. Then something caught her eye. The ring was sitting on the Professor's desk. Smiling softly, she wandered over and picked it up, slipping it onto her finger.

Suddenly realising how tired she was, Eliza looked around the room once more, taking in the comforting familiarity. Sighing, she turned out the light and closed the door behind her, before wandering up the stairs.

She stopped for a moment outside Higgins' door, although she wasn't sure why, then walked on briskly, in such a rush she nearly walked straight past her own bedroom. Climbing under the warm blankets, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Eliza woke, the sun was streaming through the window, and the birdsong from outside was reaching a crescendo.

Sitting up suddenly, she looked at the clock on her bedside table, which read nine o'clock. Leaping out of bed, she dressed hurriedly (but not without making sure she looked alright) and headed downstairs.

As she passed Higgins' room, she heard the ring of his alarm clock, and a muffled, "Oh, shut up!"

Stifling a giggle, the woman kept walking, entering the study, where she would wait until her friends woke up.

She soon grew tired of sitting there, but wasn't yet hungry enough for breakfast. Eliza stood up, and wandered over to one of the many bookcases, looking for an interesting title. Pulling out _Greek Myths and Legends _and _An Atlas of the World,_ she sat down on the sofa.

After looking through the atlas, she opened _Greek Myths and Legends_. It opened on the page PYGMALION.

Eliza hadn't read many Greek myths, apart from the tales of Hercules. This one looked quite interesting.

'Pygmalion was a sculptor. He saw so much to blame in women that he came at last to abhor the sex, and resolved to live unmarried. He was a sculptor, and had made with wonderful skill a statue of ivory, so beautiful that no living woman came anywhere near it. It was indeed the perfect semblance of a maiden that seemed to be alive, only prevented from moving by modesty. His art was so perfect that it looked like the workmanship of nature. Pygmalion admired his own work, and at last fell in love with his creation.

At the time, it was the festival of Venus, the goddess of love, and when the goddess saw Pygmalion and his ivory love, she granted the man a favour, bringing his creation to life. And they all lived happily ever after.'

Closing the book slowly, Eliza sighed. The story seemed a little too familiar for comfort. And different in just the wrong way. She heard someone coming downstairs (probably Higgins, by the heavy footsteps) and quickly tossed down the book, picking up the world atlas instead. She had regained some composure by the time the study door swung open.

Henry's tie was on a little wonkily, and he only looked half-awake, but still moderately cheerful.

"Good morning Eliza," he yawned. "What are you reading?"

"The atlas."

"It's good to see you educating yourself. Are you learning anything?"

"Only that the rain in Spain stays almost invariably in the _hills_."

Higgins shrugged away her accusing tone, saying, "But that's not nearly as fun to say, is it?"

"Hmm," replied the woman, standing up and returning the books to the shelf; thinking how_ fun_ it had been to repeat 'The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain' all day, and ten times more before she went to sleep.

"Did you sleep well, Professor?"

"Like a log. Yourself?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Where the devil is Mrs. Pearce with our breakfast?"

"She left it in the dining room, because we all slept in," replied Eliza, in her usual helpful tone.

"Slept in? Nonsense! I got up just when I intended to."

"Of course," smiled the woman, resisting the urge to mention something about violence toward alarm clocks.

"What are you going to do with the day?"

"Me? Oh, I don't know. What are you going to do?"

"I told you it would be dreadfully dull now that we don't have a project to work on," said Higgins from the hallway, as he came back from the dining room with a tray of toast, jam and coffee. Surprisingly, he had brought Eliza's tray as well, handing it to her.

"Thank you."

Henry sat down at the table and began to spread jam on his toast.

"You know, if you're going to make a habit of reading—which isn't at all a bad idea—you should try some Keats, or Milton."

Eliza smiled at this characteristic comment. "I might well do that."

"Good morning, all," said Colonel Pickering, from the doorway. "How are you both? Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?"

Higgins turned in his chair and inspected his behind in case he had grown a tail. "No tails in sight, and the eyes speak for themselves."

Both Pickering and Eliza chuckled.

"Did you sleep well, Miss Doolittle?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Oh, marvelously, thank you. What's for breakfast?"

After breakfast, the three friends sat around on the sofa.

"Oh, I feel lazy. What shall we do?"

"Eliza, what shall we do?" Higgins diverted the question, as he often did.

"Oh, I don't know. We could go somewhere, perhaps to Covent Garden. You know, Professor, if you're feeling very bored you could always just pick up another lowly guttersnipe and turn her into a lady. You seem to be good at that."

It was a great surprise to Eliza when the Professor began to look uncomfortable, even slightly guilty. She wished she hadn't spoken then.

Noticing this, Pickering spoke up hurriedly.

"Oh no, it's _far _too cold a day to be in Covent Garden," he said, overacting a shiver as the sun from the window behind him created a halo around his thinning hair.

Henry and Eliza looked at each other, and some of the tension disappeared as they noticed the laugh in each other's eyes.

"No, no, let's…let's go out for dinner tonight. _Maxine's _is a lovely place to spend an evening. Beautiful music, dancing too. And wonderful food."

"Alright. Anything to curb this damned boredom," said Higgins, standing up and ambling over to the bookcase, pulling out _A Treasury of Keats_.

Eliza stood in her bedroom, with the wardrobe open in front of her, wondering what to wear that evening.

She didn't mind the idea of going out to dinner. It would be pleasantly distracting from all the complications around her.

But what to wear? She didn't want to wear the same gown she'd worn to the Embassy Ball; this was a more casual outing. The woman really wanted to look her best that evening.

Eliza opened the jewellery box on her dresser, looking inside. She'd wear her pearl earrings and necklace tonight. Looking down at her hand, she smiled, thinking, _It'll even match my ring._

Henry was pacing the study, _A Treasury of Keats_ held in front of his face. He didn't know why he felt out of sorts, distracted. He had felt oddly embarrassed when Eliza had mentioned lowly guttersnipes earlier. That girl did have a sharp edge to her, when she chose to show it. And if he was going to be honest with himself, just for one morning, he might as well admit that he didn't like the idea of making her angry or hurt.

Shaking the foolish idea from his head, the Professor turned to the words of his favourite poet for reassurance. He opened to a random page.

**Woman! When I behold thee flippant, vain,  
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;  
Without that modest softening that enhances  
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain  
That its mild light creates to heal again:  
E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,  
E'en then my soul with exultation dances  
For that love, so long, I've dormant lain:  
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,  
Heavens! How desperately do I adore  
Thy winning graces; - to be thy defender  
I hotly burn - to be a Calidore -  
A Red Cross Knight - a stout Leander -  
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.**

Higgins sighed. For once, his dear friend Keats wasn't helping at all. _Damn._

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Eliza stood in front of the mirror, examining herself critically. Her hair looked sweet, pinned back with a few curls framing her face. She had been careful not to wear too much makeup; just lipstick and a little face powder.

The dress she had chosen (after half an hour of changing her mind) was pale blue, with long sleeves and a flowing skirt. Overall, she decided she had done quite well.

Remembering that the Professor and the Colonel were waiting downstairs, Eliza took a deep breath and one last look in the mirror before opening the door and walking across the landing to the staircase.

Standing atop the stairs, Eliza smiled down at the two gentlemen waiting for her. Higgins was looking impatient and bored. Pickering smiled and straightened up at a lady's presence, as he always did. The Professor noticed this, and followed his friend's gaze.

Seeing the young woman on top of the stairs, Henry raised an eyebrow. She didn't look bad. Even if all women ever did was straighten up their hair, at least in Eliza's case it had a pleasing effect.

Eliza descended the stairs gracefully, as she had been taught. It had been a tiresome thing to learn, but now that she had mastered it, it was quite fun to do really.

"You are a vision, Miss Doolittle," the Colonel kissed her hand courteously. "Isn't she, Higgins?"

The young woman braced herself for the 'yes, fine, who cares' response she knew was coming.

"Yes, lovely."

She would have gawked at him, had she not been so ladylike. Coming from Henry Higgins, 'lovely' was a high compliment.

"Right, let's get going. I cannot abide being late," he said hurriedly, before she could say anything in response.

"Yes, let's," nodded Pickering, offering Eliza his arm. Glancing once more at Higgins, who was busily straightening his tie, she took it and they went down the steps to the taxi.

Finding himself unaccompanied, Higgins imitated the pair in front of him by offering his arm to an imaginary partner, and followed them outside.

Maxine's was a stylish and aristocratic restaurant, this was obvious to Eliza as soon as she stepped out of the taxi. Beautiful women walked in and out on the arms of equally dapper gentlemen, and for a moment, Eliza forgot that she was one of them.

"Oh my goodness, look at that!" she exclaimed to the Colonel, who was climbing out of the taxi.

"I thought you'd like it. What do you think, Higgins?"

"It'll do."

Eliza smiled as his typical indifference, before letting Pickering lead her inside.

They were soon seated a nice table to the side, with a good view of the currently empty dance floor. It was all Eliza could do not to stare at the glamour around her. True, the Embassy Ball had been more prestigious, but tonight she was here to have a good time; she didn't have to be nervous.

Looking a little uncomfortable in his chair, Higgins examined the menu.

"What do you think you'll have, Pickering? I'm going for the roast beef; I can't stand the soup of the day."

"Hmm, I think I'll try the chicken fillet and salad. And what about you, Eliza?"

"Oh, I don't know how I'm going to choose. There's so much I've never had before."

"Well, I recommend the tomato fettuccini. It's delicious," suggested the Colonel, with a kind smile.

The Professor and the Colonel discussed various dialects over glasses of port, while Eliza took in the atmosphere. She was becoming mildly bored when the small orchestra struck up a tune and a few couples made their way over to the dance floor.

Draining his glass, Pickering remarked, "Ah, the dancing is beginning. It's always splendid fun here. Watch Eliza, you might learn something."

His instruction for her to watch was unnecessary; her eyes were already glued to the floor as elegant couples began to waltz. They all looked so perfect. How she would love to be one of those sophisticated, entrancing women that gentlemen always looked so proud to have on their arm.

"Where the devil are our meals?"

"Oh, they're coming. Patience, Higgins, old chap. I say, Eliza, would you like to dance while we wait?"

"Oh yes, that'd be lovely, thank you," smiled Eliza, standing up and taking his arm, excited at the prospect of dancing.

Alone again, Henry drained his glass and swivelled it around in his hands with a sigh.

The young woman smiled happily as Pickering took her hand and they began to waltz. She liked the old fellow; he was so kind to her.

And she _loved_ dancing. She had been dreadful at it in the beginning, but Professor Higgins had taught her with a moderate amount of patience, and now she was quite well co-ordinated. When she was dancing, she always felt so elegant and beautiful. Nothing could replace the feeling that night when she and the Professor had danced to 'The Rain In Spain.'

Thinking of the Professor, Eliza looked across to the table, where he sat with his shoulders hunched, pretending to read the wine list. She felt a little bad for him.

Still, it was so much fun to twirl in her long dress amidst the fashionable crowd, and be one of them. Soon, the song came to an end, and Eliza joined the others in clapping for the band.

Pickering lead her back to their table, where Higgins was waiting, attempting (and failing miserably) to create an origami crane out of his napkin.

"Are our meals here yet, Higgins?"

"Why yes, I believe you ordered the nothing with nonexistent sauce?"

Eliza raised an eyebrow at his cynical response. Pickering chuckled good-naturedly.

"Chicken fillet with salad, actually. I'm sure they'll have it ready in a minute. Good things take time, after all. Why don't you and Miss Doolittle have this next dance; I'm sure our meals will be ready by then."

"Oh, no, I don't feel like dancing tonight."

"Nonsense, old chap. I always say that when you're out of sorts a good dance never fails to improve your mood."

"I am _not_ out of sorts."

"Of course not. But go on, Higgins, have this dance. Think what a shame it would be for Miss Doolittle to miss this opportunity have a night dancing."

Henry rolled his eyes, tossed his napkin down on the table and stood up. Eliza's heart leapt, although she did her best to appear detached.

There was a brief break between dances, as couples came to floor or returned to their seats, until the band began the next song.

Pickering watched Higgins lead Eliza to the floor as the song began. He nodded and smiled as he recognised the tune.

"Ah, very good. A Maxina."

Eliza had been about to place her hand on Henry's shoulder when he murmured, "No, this isn't a waltz. It's a Maxina," turning her around and lifting her hands, holding them in front of her shoulders.

"Oh," she blushed, feeling terribly inadequate.

She soon forgot her embarrassment, as they began to dance. It was a wonderful feeling, to glide along in his arms to the beautiful music. She wasn't very familiar with the style of dance, but Henry was leading, so all she had to do was follow.

Feeling the need to break the silence, Eliza asked, "Where did you learn to dance?" She sounded far too shy for her own liking.

"My mother sent me to lessons with other boys my age when I was eleven. We had to wear white gloves and dance with silly little girls in frilly frocks. I loathed it," he chuckled, and Eliza smiled shyly, trying to ignore his breath sweeping across the back of her neck.

Pickering watched them dancing as a waitress refilled his glass. Eliza looked to be enjoying herself. Higgins too, if it came to that.

_I did tell him that dancing always cheers a fellow up, _he thought, taking a sip.

"You've learnt fast, considering you were still mastering the waltz a few weeks ago."

"Oh, thank you," replied Eliza, as she could think of nothing else sensible to say. Twirling her under his arm, Higgins was silent again, as they continued to dance.

Eliza was barely aware of the couples dancing around them, only conscious of the fact that she was in the Professor's arms, gliding across the floor to a romantic melody, and that if she tripped or did the wrong step the spell would be broken.

She wondered vaguely whether he felt anything like she did.

And she was left wondering, for the dance ended all too soon, and after applauding the orchestra they returned to their seats.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it, Higgins?" Pickering asked cheerfully, as they joined him.

The Professor muttered something, taking a seat. Hoping she looked calm and composed, Eliza sat down hurriedly and busied herself eating her meal.

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Eliza was glad when the taxi ride was over, and she could retreat to her room. She bid the Professor and the Colonel goodnight, and went upstairs, claiming a headache.

She washed her face and cleaned her teeth, letting her hair fall down to her shoulders. Eliza sighed, gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

She was confused again. Whenever she became aware of her feelings for the Professor she always felt confused. Well, not so much confused as troubled. She knew exactly how _she_ felt, but it was so difficult to tell how _he_ felt.

And even if he _did_ feel the same way, what would they do about it? They were both so shy.

Sighing again, Eliza removed her earrings and necklace, and began to sing softly, to the tune they had danced to earlier.

"_Where are the words I long to hear?_

_Where are the words I long to say?_

_Why can't we open our hearts and let them fly?_

_Oh, why are we all so shy?_

_Why are we always afraid to hold out hand and lead the way?_

_Must all the love in world go wandering silently by,_

_Leaving us here,_

_Year after year,_

_Too shy?"_

Eliza drew her curtains, gazing out at the dark London streets that had been her home nearly all her life. Her eyes fell on the small posy of violets she had bought from a flower girl she used to know that morning she had spent in Covent Garden.

She often thought fondly of her days there, although the sensible side of her knew she was looking back through rose-tinted spectacles. She had made many friendships there, and there was a kind of affection between everyone in the community, despite the brawls that sometimes broke out. There had always been someone to turn to when she needed advice or cheering up. Eliza missed that now.

"_Someone's 'ead restin' on my knee, warm an' tender as 'e can be. Who tikes good care of me. Aow, wouldn't it be loverly? Loverly? Loverly?_ _Loverly? _Loverly…"

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Henry Higgins sighed, loosening the tie that had been strangling him all evening. He wished they would hurry up and go out of fashion.

He unbuttoned the first few buttons his shirt, leaning out the door to call "Goodnight Pickering," down the hallway. He pondered on calling out "Goodnight Eliza," but figured she would probably not appreciate it, since she had a headache. She had seemed quite out of sorts and distracted by the end of the evening.

Turning on his bedside lamp and switching off the overhead light, he hummed to himself, the same tune he and Eliza had danced to earlier that night. He had to take a little credit for her grace on the dance floor, but even so, she had surprised him tonight. It had been a pleasure to glide around with her. Dance lessons wouldn't have been half as bad if any of the little girls had been as elegant as Eliza was now.

The Professor yawned as he pulled the covers over himself, reaching to his bedside table for his current reading material. He had made it a habit to read a different poem every night, to give him something to think about as he fell asleep. Gazing at the front cover, Henry decided that he'd rather not read Keats tonight. The poem he'd read earlier that day had already given him quite enough to think about…

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The rest of the week was spent planning the upcoming holiday in Brighton, organising accommodation and travel. The Professor remained reluctant, but Colonel Pickering's enthusiasm for the outing grew with each passing day, and Eliza was quite content to come along.

"I still don't see the point in this confounded holiday!" Henry grumbled, climbing into the motorcar that was to take them on the journey. It would take almost half a day to get there. That was the Professor's main point of protest.

"Oh, stop being such a pessimist, Higgins. I bet you'll enjoy yourself just as much as Miss Doolittle and I plan to. The travelling will be worth it when we get there."

Higgins grunted something inaudible and shifted over as Eliza sat down next to him. He leant his chin on his hand and gazed out the window, like a sulky child.

Eliza rolled her eyes at him. She knew, and he probably knew it too, that by the time the day was over he would be smiling and rambling away to Pickering about this or that.

"Right, I think we're ready to go. Drive on!"

Pickering, who was sitting in the front with the chauffer, turned around and beamed at the two seated in the back.

"By Jove, won't this be grand? A nice holiday relaxing at the sunny seaside. Just what we all need, isn't it Miss Doolittle?"

Eliza nodded, although she was beginning to doubt she would enjoy the next two days very much if Professor Higgins remained in his petulant state.

Pickering turned to the front again, humming 'Oh, I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside' under his breath. The young woman hid an amused smile as Higgins began to grind his teeth.

"Oh, look out the window Eliza! We must be nearly there; I think I can see the sea!"

Eliza, who had been conversing politely with the Colonel for the past three hours, sat up sharply and stared out the window.

The sky was blue above them, although there were threatening looking clouds out at sea. After long periods of driving through the country, (as pleasant as that was) it was almost a relief to see another bustling city. As they approached the outskirts of Brighton, the Professor shifted in his seat, his sulky expression lifting slightly, although he remained quite sullen just for effect.

"Look Professor, we're here!"

"Well, all I have to say is that it's about damned—"

"Yes, yes, Higgins. We know what a trial it has been for you to sit for hours in car with two utterly insufferable people (no offence meant, Miss Doolittle, I don't really think you're insufferable at all.) But now we're here and you can get out of this 'confounded wagon' as you call it, and have a nice relaxing holiday. We shall go and leave our things at the hotel, then go for a walk along the pier. How does that sound?"

By the time the car pulled up outside the Morning Star Hotel, Henry's frown had almost lifted completely. As well as its style and class, it had a friendly, welcoming ambience.

Eliza gazed around the foyer. She was always amazed by the luxury and style of the upper class.

"By Jove, this is splendid! Try the beds, Higgins, they're wonderfully soft. Eliza, the Professor and I share these adjoining rooms, and you are staying directly across the hall. You'll have your own ensuite too."

Higgins looked around the room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all."

Eliza smiled to herself. She had known he wouldn't be able to stay glum for long.

The three friends strolled along the promenade, while children splashed and played in the sea nearby.

Eliza adored the atmosphere in Brighton. It was so very different from London. It had a laidback, carefree air about it that was contagious; you couldn't help but feel relaxed, and yet excited and interested at the same time.

"Oh, to be young again," sighed Pickering, watching a boy and his dog splashing in the waves. "I wouldn't be out in the water even if I were his age; the wind is a little too sharp this afternoon."

"Mm, the weather is a bit shifty," nodded Higgins, frowning at the incoming clouds.

They walked along, discussing this and that, the Professor making several pointed references to how good it was to be able to stretch his legs again.

Eliza just smiled; perhaps this holiday would be enjoyable after all.

Further along the promenade there was an interesting rock outcrop, called Castle Rock. It was more the size of a hill than a rock, but it looked to be quite interesting, with children clambering over it, or peering into the rock pools at its base.

"Let's go and have a look at that, shall we Pickering?" suggested Henry, pointing to it.

"You and Miss Doolittle go on ahead, I'm just going to have a look at some of these stalls."

Eliza and Higgins shared an amused glance; the Colonel had been eyeing the ice-cream stall keenly for the past few minutes.

As they set off together, Henry frowned up at the sky. "Looks like it's going to rain…"

"You're not much of an optimist, are you Professor?" Eliza smiled, although she had to admit it was getting rather chilly. A wind was rising, and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, which were now hovering threateningly above them.

"No, I'm just a realist, which is a far more scientific disposition."

The young woman smiled at his characteristic response, shivering a little in her summery dress.

They picked up the pace a little, wanting to reach Castle Rock as soon as they could. As they walked on, some of the other holidaymakers began to pack up their things and head inside. But Henry and Eliza kept on, although they were only halfway to their destination. They didn't need to talk, just walking on together in silent accord.

Eliza frowned up at the sky as light raindrops began to fall on her face.

"Ugh! Damn!" It would seem Higgins had noticed too.

The rain was growing steadily heavier, and giving up on reaching Castle Rock, the Professor stopped, sidestepping under one of the trees lining the promenade. Eliza followed, brushing the raindrops off her dress once she stood under the shelter of the boughs.

"What was Pickering saying about a nice relaxing holiday by the _sunny seaside_?" muttered Higgins, peering out at the rain. Eliza chuckled, straightening her damp hair.

"I suppose the Colonel will be going back to the hotel, rather than trying to catch us up."

"Yes, so we should join him, rather than hanging around under this tree until the rain stops," said Henry, running a hand through his hair, which was looking abnormally ruffled.

"So we just make a run for it?" the young woman asked, less than keen on the idea.

"Well, what else do you suggest we do?"

She shrugged. He did have a point there.

"Come on, if we run from tree to tree then we shouldn't get too wet. Besides, it's not completely dry under here. The lounge in our hotel is becoming increasingly appealing the more I think about it. Let's go."

And he was gone, running on to the shelter of the closest tree. Eliza sighed and gathered up her skirt, dashing after him. She met him under the next tree.

"See, it's not so bad. If we can get to the other end of the promenade, we can walk to the hotel by the shelter of the shops. We'll be back in our warm hotel in no time," said Henry, obviously pleased with his foolproof plan. "Let's keep going."

However, the next tree in the row was the type that grew straight upwards, offering no shelter whatsoever. The young woman turned to Higgins, who smiled sheepishly.

"By _George_, Professor, your 'run to the next tree and we won't get wet' idea is working _brilliantly_," said Eliza, with a wry smile.

"Utter genius, I know," Henry nodded, looking up at the heavens as raindrops hammered down around them.

He had to laugh at the way she looked, sopping wet and tapping her foot in mock frustration. Eliza couldn't hold a straight face for much longer, laughing too, and grabbing his arm, she pulled him towards the next tree, which looked as though it would provide more shelter.

"Look at you; you're soaked!" chuckled Higgins, once they were under relative cover.

"Mm, I wonder whose fault that is," the young woman smiled, observing the way he looked. He was laughing, and looked far more carefree than usual, his hair ruffled and a glint in his eye.

"Well, you can't blame me for the weather!"

"I suppose not. But now that your thesis has been proved faulty, let's try mine. I say we forget the running from tree to tree and just keep running until we get to the shops. I don't think we'll end up any drier whatever we do, so we may as well go quickly."

"Your thesis isn't so very different from mine. The only differentiation is that we'll be wetter after your's than we would be if you'd listened to me. But putting that aside, let's go."

Smiling to herself at his reluctance to be bettered by a woman, Eliza followed the Professor as he dashed out into the rain.

Henry slowed a little, making sure she wasn't falling behind, and when he realised her skirt was slowing her down he took her hand, pulling her up alongside him.

They halted under the veranda of a shop not far from the promenade, breathing heavily and laughing, although there was really nothing to laugh about.

"I bet you half a crown we would have ended up drier if we'd ran from tree to tree like I told you to," grinned Higgins, shaking raindrops off his jacket.

"Do you suggest we use both methods three times and record the results, for a fair test?" asked Eliza, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge.

Henry frowned for a moment, then chuckled, "You've been reading my books on scientific theories, haven't you? Well, there's nothing wrong with that; I like an educated woman."

"Well, uh…I suppose we'd better get back to the hotel."

In a few minutes, the pair entered the foyer of the Morning Star Hotel. A group of rich-looking elderly women were sitting on a sofa to the side, and looked up when their quiet serenity was spoiled by two soaking wet and cheerful youngsters.

Eliza noticed their presence first, nudging Higgins in the side with her elbow and lowering her gaze, trying not to giggle. When Henry saw the expression on the over-made up faces, he put on his most gentlemanly air, although his eyes were dancing. He offered Eliza his arm. When she realised what he was doing she took it, and with exaggerated dignity (contradictory to their appearance), they made their way across the foyer.

The second they rounded the corner, however, they couldn't contain themselves any longer, and burst out laughing.

"Oh, the look on their faces!" Eliza giggled, as Higgins imitated one the ladies, before cracking up too.

They were just pulling themselves together when Colonel Pickering came down the hallway.

"What on earth happened to you two? You're soaked through! I thought you'd have run back inside as soon as the storm started."

Pickering looked astonished, and rightly so, for it wasn't every day you saw Professor Henry Higgins soaking wet and looking as though he couldn't care less.

"Well, we didn't happen to have an umbrella on us, since we'd been guaranteed a relaxing holiday at the sunny seaside," said Higgins cheerfully, shrugging off his jacket and pretending to wring water from it. Pickering shook his head in amusement.

"I think the sea breeze must be getting to you head, Higgins old chap, you're frightfully jovial. You and Miss Doolittle had better go and change your clothes, and take a nice hot bath."

"I don't need a bath, I'm wet enough as it is," said Henry, reaching for the doorhandle to his room. "I'll meet you both at dinner."

"Are you feeling alright, Eliza?" asked the Colonel, when Higgins had gone.

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

"Very well. I really do suggest you go and take a bath, or you'll catch a dreadful cold."

"I might do that. I'll meet you and the Professor at dinner," said the woman, starting down the hall to her room.

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The dining room was crowded; both guests staying at the hotel and people visiting for dinner. Ladies and gentlemen graced the dance floor, which was larger than the one at Maxine's.

Eliza stood by the door, watching them dance and gazing around every so often, in case the Professor and the Colonel had arrived. She looked stunning, elegant and innocent at the same time. Sparkly pins in her hair, white gloves up to her elbow and a lovely pale pink dress that seemed to shimmer as she moved. From across the room, with her image accompanied by music from the band, she was undoubtedly capable of winning hearts far less fickle than that of Freddy Eynsford-Hill.

Henry looked far more composed and dapper than he had earlier that day; wearing a white tie and tails. He despised having to dress up like this just to go out for dinner, but he didn't fancy being the only man in the room not wearing a tuxedo either.

Pickering was dressed similarly, smiling around the room as they entered. He always enjoyed these functions. "Can you see Eliza, Henry?"

"Err…Yes, she's over there by the opposite door."

The two gentlemen made their way around the outside of the ballroom to where Eliza stood. She smiled and waved when she saw them.

"Hello. I see you're warm and dry now, Professor."

"Well, I could hardly turn up for dinner saturated."

"Certainly not. You look lovely, Miss Doolittle," said Pickering, as the three wandered over to find a table.

Eliza tried not to be too obvious in glancing at Higgins, but when he nodded and smiled in agreement she found something incredibly fascinating to stare at across the room, hoping he wouldn't notice her slight blush.

The three friends took a seat, gazing out the large window with a beautiful view of the ocean. The rain had subsided, and the moon could be seen through a few clouds.

"Well Higgins, this holiday isn't as bad as you visualized, it is?"

Henry shrugged in an admitting fashion. "Apart from being drenched, it's been really quite tolerable so far."

Eliza smiled and rolled her eyes; he hadn't really minded getting caught in the rain, but of course he _had_ to complain about it.

The dinner was lovely, including freshly-caught blue cod and baked potatoes. Afterwards, the Pickering paid for their meals while Higgins and Eliza wandered out onto the veranda. The silver moon was casting a glow on the lapping waves, the gentle breeze tousling Eliza's hair slightly. Had she been by herself, she would have sighed contentedly. But tonight she was very aware that Henry was standing nearby, gazing out at the sea as well. For some reason she felt awkward, as though she should say something, although she couldn't think what to say for the life of her.

"It's a beautiful night," he said. His voice sounded odd after the silence.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, looking down at her hands gripping the railing.

Inside, the band struck up a tune, as people gathered to dance. Eliza watched the couples through the doorway, swaying to the rhythm where she stood.

Henry turned his gaze from the ocean, to admire a different view. She did look beautiful. _There's nothing a nice dress and some makeup can't do. _He wasn't convinced by his own excuse. The man took a breath and stepped towards her, extending his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

_What the devil am I doing?_

Eliza looked up, surprised. This was unusual behavior for him. But she smiled and took his hand, letting him lead her to the middle of the veranda. Henry placed his hand on her waist and they began to sway together, their steps light.

The moon cast their shadows on the ground, the light reflecting off Eliza's jewels. The tune was beautiful, gentle and lilting.

They were so perfectly coordinated, moving as one, the woman's dress twirling around her legs. Henry was torn between the temptation to look at her and the fear of…of what? He was much too aware of the warmth of her body next to his for his liking.

It was hard to read Henry's expression, so she just looked down. She felt odd, very relaxed, yet also tense. It was the same feeling as the last time they had danced, but slightly more intense because they were more alone. She hoped she wasn't blushing, the thought of which made her blush more.

The tune came to an end, the dancers inside applauding the band. Spinning under his arm, Eliza came to a halt. Henry cleared his throat and straightened his tie needlessly.

"Ah, there you are," Pickering was standing in the doorway, looking jolly and completely unaware of the moment on which he was intruding. "It's a lovely evening, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," agreed Eliza, turning to gaze at the sea.

Pickering yawned. "I say, it's been quite a long day. I might turn in for the night. Would you mind terribly?"

"Not at all," replied Eliza hurriedly, "I think I might as well."

"And you, Higgins?"

"I'll be with you soon," he said, turning to face the sea. Pickering bade Eliza goodnight, and headed across the restaurant to the hotel section.

She paused for a moment, watching the man. He was silent. Perhaps he didn't know she was still there.

"Goodnight, Henry," she said quietly, before turning and making her way across the restaurant.

His gaze never shifting from the moonlit sea, Higgins frowned. _Did she just call me 'Henry'?_

Pickering sat down on his bed with a yawn, removing his shoes and socks. _Well, well, well, I suppose I might have guessed. No wonder Higgins was disturbed by her absence. _The old fellow had seen his share of dances, and it was clear to him the one he had just witnessed was not a dance for the sake of dancing.

He had to hand it to Higgins, he was very good at concealing what he obviously felt for Eliza. As for her, Pickering could understand why she felt something for her tutor. There was the age difference of course, but it was not uncommon for a young woman to marry an older man. Those were normally marriages of convenience though, and this was obviously something more.

Pickering shook his head lightly in amusement. _It shall be very interesting to see how this all turns out._

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Eliza watched Henry the next morning at breakfast, but he showed no sign of even remembering the way they had danced. He wasn't as jovial as he had been yesterday either, he seemed more guarded and quiet.

This made enjoying the seaside and the different atmosphere a lot more difficult. Pickering remained cheerful, and did his best to make conversation. He was always the one to come up with the ideas as to what to do over the week.

When the morning came that they were to leave, they piled back into the motorcar, Pickering being the only one with a smile on his face. Higgins would make conversation about various scientific subjects with his friend, but Eliza was never included in the conversation. She simply gazed out the window, watching the countryside go by.

When they finally arrived outside 27A Wimpole Street, all three of them were glad of the chance to stretch their legs. Eliza went straight upstairs to unpack her bags, as did Henry, leaving Pickering to his own devices. This may not have been a sensible idea, as the dear old fellow had a plan. Well, it wasn't particularly well formed yet, but he was working on it. As it happened, he hardly needed to form a plan himself.

Fate seemed to have decided to take care of things.

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The next morning when Professor Higgins entered the dining room, the first thing he said was "Achoo!"

"Oh dear, Higgins, have you caught a cold?"

"Of course not—achoo!"

"We _did_ tell you to have a warm bath after you got caught in the rain that day," Eliza reminded him, pulling up a chair at the breakfast table.

The man only grunted in response.

"By Jove, you don't look good, old chap. I think you should lie down."

"Nonsense. I am in perfect healt—achooo!"

Henry was still in denial when Mrs Pearce sat him down on the divan with a blanket over him and a thermometer in his mouth.

"I resent being treated like a helpless invalid," he muttered around the thermometer.

"Now Professor, if you intend to get any better you must rest. I shall be in the kitchen if you need me. Until then, I'll place you in Miss Doolittle's care."

Henry nearly choked on the thermometer.

Pickering settled down on the sofa with the Daily Times, while Eliza sat reading and keeping a watchful eye on her reluctant patient.

Henry had been forbidden to read, told that he must rest, and was not in a pleasant mood.

"Would you fetch me my bibe?"

"Now Henry, you mustn't smoke when you're ill," said Pickering, from behind the newspaper.

"I'b dot as dill as you as you dhink I ab."

Eliza laughed, looking up from her book. "If only the rest of London could hear this; Professor Henry Higgins unable to enunciate correctly!"

Henry scowled and removed the thermometer from his mouth.

"Vewwy fubby."

Eliza enjoyed her new sense of power over the Professor, Pickering could tell. She was always fussing over him, checking his thermometer and making sure he wasn't in a draught, knowing full well he hated the attention.

But she was careful not to irritate him too much, and she even read Keats to him while he lay with his eyes closed, exhausted.

"It's time we went to bed," whispered Eliza to Pickering. Henry was fast asleep on the divan.

"Shall we move him upstairs?"

"No, he wouldn't thank us for it. He'll be fine where he is."

"Goodnight then, Eliza."

"Goodnight."

She listened to his footsteps going up the stairs. Then she stood, looking down at the sleeping man. He looked exhausted. For all she enjoyed making fun of him, she also wanted him to get better soon.

Eliza bent down, arranging the pillows under his head. For a moment, their faces were very close, and she blushed at what she had considered momentarily.

"Goodnight, Henry," she whispered, touching his hand briefly, before tiptoeing out of the room and closing the door softly behind her.

"Goodnight, Eliza."

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Henry's health improved over the next few days, which pleased everyone, especially the man himself.

"I can enunciate once more!" he proclaimed, with a triumphant smile at Eliza. The three friends were sitting on the back veranda in the morning sunshine.

"Miss Doolittle?" Mrs Pearce appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"There's a young man here to see you. A Frederick Eynsford-Hill?"

Eliza drew a breath. _Oh dear._

"Excuse me," she stood up, looking apologetically at Henry. He didn't meet her eyes, but nodded. She sighed and followed Mrs Pearce into the living room.

Freddy, who had been seated on the divan, stood up abruptly at Eliza's entrance. He was dressed much too smartly for a Monday, it was obvious he was making an effort. This only make her more uncomfortable.

"Hello, Freddy."

"Hello, Eliza."

"Excuse me," said Mrs Pearce quietly, slipping out of the room. Eliza wished she could do the same.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," said the young man, gesturing for her to sit down. She did so, reluctantly.

"Eliza, I would like to know why you have treated me the way you have. At first you were polite and charming, perfect in my eyes. Then, that night, you were so hostile towards me, when I was attempting to reveal my affections. And now you ignore me completely. Would you care to explain why?"

The young woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Freddy, I'm awfully sorry for the way I have treated you. It was most unfair of me. However, I'm afraid that I cannot offer you the same affection you feel for me."

He looked down, then lifted his head again.

"You must think sensibly, Eliza. You must know that it is not fitting for a young woman to live with two older men without being married to one of them. People will talk. It would be in your best interests to…well…to marry me. You may not feel affection for me now, but love can grow…"

Eliza sighed; she knew all too well how love could grow.

"I am sorry, Freddy. Really I am. But I'm afraid it can't be helped. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my friends. Thank you for visiting."

Freddy stood up, his hat in hand, and left the room silently. Eliza heard the front door close behind him. She sighed and covered her face with her hands. The worst thing was, Freddy was right.

When she returned to the veranda, Pickering sat alone.

"Where is the Professor?"

"He felt the need for a brisk walk, I think."

Eliza collapsed into her chair with a sigh. The Colonel smiled, pouring a drink.

"Brandy helps, you know," he offered gently.

Henry felt as though he needed an entire bottle of brandy. Either that of he felt like he had already _had_ an entire bottle of brandy. He felt a strange sense of detachment from his body. His thoughts were very clear, yet his mind was racing as fast as his feet. Not that he knew where he was going. He was just going to keep walking until he felt better.

What was wrong with him? He had been perfectly cheerful, sitting in the sunshine, and at the mention of Frederick Eynsford-Hill he suddenly felt almost ill. _As if I don't know why I'm like this,_ an irritatingly accurate voice in the back of his head reminded him.

It _would_ be for the best if Eliza married Freddy. Henry had known for some time now that the matter of her living situation would soon have to be addressed. But he hadn't wanted this particular outcome.

_Well, what other outcome could there be?_ He knew exactly what outcome he wanted, as hard as he tried to push it from his mind. But it was impossible, and that was that.

He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the footpath. This was ridiculous. What an idea! He would make an utter fool of himself, something Henry Higgins avoided at all costs. But he had to try.

Nodding decisively, he turned on his heel and started back toward number 27A Wimpole Street.

When Henry returned, he found the veranda empty, and Pickering reading in the study.

"Hello, old chap. Did you enjoy your walk?"

"When is she moving out?"

"Moving out? Eliza?"

Henry nodded. Pickering chuckled.

"Oh, Miss Doolittle isn't moving out, Henry. She intends to stay here with us. From what I gather, she and Freddy had a polite conversation, sorted out a few matters, and won't be seeing each other again."

Higgins stood there for a moment, then said "Oh," and sat down in his armchair. He rested his chin on his hand in thought. Pickering pretended not to notice, reading.

When Eliza cautiously entered the study, she was surprised to find the two gentlemen engaging in a cheerful game of draughts.

"Oh, hello Eliza," smiled the Colonel, "What do you know about draughts?"

"Err, very little," she said quietly, taking a seat. She had expected things to be awkward, but they weren't, and the fact that things weren't awkward for some reason made Eliza feel more awkward. Didn't Henry care that Freddy had called on her? Then again, why should he?

"After being confined to the house for so long, I feel like going somewhere," said Higgins, folding his arms behind his head.

"Like where?" asked Eliza, watching him with interest, trying to read anything in his expression or body language.

"Oh, I don't know. How about the opera?"

Eliza's face brightened. She'd never been to the opera.

"Pickering?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, jolly good idea. Jolly good. Excuse me for a moment, won't you?"

As he walked away, Pickering stroked his moustache in thought. He smiled.

That evening, when Higgins and Eliza met downstairs to leave for the opera, the Colonel was nowhere to be seen.

"Say, Mrs Pearce, have you seen Pickering?"

"I'm afraid the Colonel is quite exhausted. He says the stress of your holiday must have caught up with him."

"Oh dear," said Eliza. "We'll have to reschedule our outing."

"Oh no," replied Mrs Pearce hurriedly, "The Colonel asked me specifically to make sure you two went along without him. He wants a full report of what the opera was like when you get home."

Henry and Eliza exchanged a glance.

"Alright then. Expect us home around ten o'clock."

He offered the woman his arm, and they went out into the night.

As the door closed behind them, a sly smile spread across Mrs Pearce's face.

"They've gone, Colonel."

"Jolly good. Thank you, Mrs Pearce," called Pickering from his room, where he put his feet up and opened the newspaper.

Eliza had never seen a theatre like it. It was large, and so very grand. She took a seat amongst the audience, Henry sitting down next to her.

She noticed how close their heads were when they leaned closer to read from the same programme (Higgins thought buying two was a waste.)

She enjoyed the music, although she wasn't paying all that much attention to the storyline. She was distracted. In a way she wished Pickering was with them, and in another way she was glad to be alone with Henry again (if sitting in the dark amongst a hundred other people is alone.)

About halfway through, an old woman came onto the stage. As she had been thinking her own thoughts, Eliza wasn't sure of her relevance to the story. She began to sing, her voice strong and throbbing.

_This is a man you'll forgive and forgive,  
And help and protect, as long as you live...  
He will not always say  
What you would have him say,  
But now and then he'll say  
Something Wonderful. _

_The thoughtless things he'll do_

_Will hurt and worry you_

_Then all at once he'll do_

_Something Wonderful _

You'll always go along,  
Defend him where he's wrong  
And tell him, when he's strong  
He is  
Wonderful

_He'll always  
Need your love  
And so he'll get your love.  
A man who needs your love  
Can be  
Wonderful. _

Eliza drew a deep breath. Those lyrics were amazing. She glanced across at Henry, who was watching intently, but apparently unmoved. She was deeply aware of the song's relevance. How odd it seemed; to be told something she'd always known, sitting in a theatre with a hundred strangers, none of whom realised the message she was receiving.

Eliza bit her lip, then straightened up, a decision formed in her mind.

She was quiet as they left the theatre. Henry was silent as well. _He's probably pondering on the meaning of the opera, whatever it was._

Higgins nodded to some of his high-society acquaintances as they walked onto the street. Eliza shivered at the cold.

"Taxi!" called Higgins, hailing a cab. It came to a halt nearby, only to be claimed by a dapper young man in a tuxedo, who smiled apologetically.

After several more attempts, Henry turned to the young woman, saying, "I'm afraid we'll have to walk."

"That's alright," she replied, putting on a glove.

"Eliza, you've only got one glove. Where's the other?"

"Oh, I lost it sometime during the first act."

"You should have told me, we could have searched for it."

"Oh no, it would've been such a shame to miss parts of the opera just for a silly glove," she replied, taking his arm as they set off together.

Henry looked at her, a small smile on his face.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing… I'll have to buy you a new pair sometime."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes. The air was crisp, and sometimes there were stars visible through the London smog.

"Eliza…?"

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking, about our living situation, and…I know this is a difficult topic, but it must be addressed…it will no longer be suitable for you to live with Pickering and I soon. People will talk, Eliza… it is not viewed as proper for a young woman to live with one man, let alone two, outside of matrimony."

Eliza nodded. "I know."

"You could still visit us, of course. I'm sure we could make an arrangement; my mother would be delighted to have you at her house, until you find…somewhere else to stay."

She bit her lip. She suddenly felt rather ill. It wouldn't be the same, living with Mrs Higgins, kindly though she was. And of course Mrs Higgins would expect her to find a husband, and no doubt attempt to play the matchmaker. Why did this have to happen now, now that she had come to her realisation? If only she had acted sooner, there might have been a chance…

"Thank you, I'd like that very much, if your mother would have me."

"Of course! She was thoroughly impressed with you, as she should be."

Eliza lowered her gaze, not sure what to say, also afraid she might give way to emotion if she spoke.

Henry cleared his throat, looking at the mist his breath made in the night air. "Your hand must be cold, without your glove," he said, looking at their linked arms, and moving his hand so that it shielded hers from the chill. She swallowed hard.

There was a silence, only the sound of their feet on the cobbles. Then Henry cleared his throat again.

"Uh, Eliza…I have been thinking a lot, about what we are going to do with your living situation, and uh, my mother is not the only option. Believe me, after a week with her you will be glad to have a choice."

Eliza smiled weakly, and he looked uncomfortable.

"Uh, well, you have been staying at Wimpole Street for a long time now, and…well, the staff, and myself, have become used to having you with us. Pickering too."

They were nearing Wimpole Street, and their steps slowed.

"We…I…have grown fond of you, Eliza, and…and I know I'd miss you. I mean, you're so helpful, and…What I am trying to say is that perhaps you may not have to move away. Of course, you probably won't…like this idea, and there's no pressure for you to accept, but…uh…"

"Yes?" Eliza's heart was in her mouth. He could only be going to say something important, Henry Higgins never stuttered like this. Henry looked at her for a moment, then looked down at his feet as they slowed to a halt.

"Eliza, the only way for you to continue living with us, and save your reputation, would be to…uh, to m-marry…one of us. I realise you probably detest the idea, but from what I gather you turned down Freddy Eynsford-Hill today, and…" He trailed off. _God, I never should have asked._

Eliza was silent. She wasn't sure she could speak. She knew what Henry meant when he said 'one of us'.

"Damn! I'm sorry Eliza. I shouldn't have asked you. My mother will be delighted to have you, I shall send her a telegram the moment we get inside."

Eliza was vaguely aware they were standing at the corner of Wimpole Street. But Henry was walking briskly away, hands thrust in his pockets, his head hung.

The woman paused for a moment, biting her lip, then ran after him, her heels loud on the cobbles. He turned to face her, a tiny flicker of hope in his eyes that he soon masked with a look of calm questioning.

And taking a deep breath, Eliza reached up and pressed her lips to his for a second. It only lasted a moment, but it expressed everything so much better than words. She stood, looking at his astounded expression, then turned on her heel and ran, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt she was going to burst with excitement, and for some reason she felt like laughing. She was in such a rush that she ran straight past Higgins' house, and had to turn and run back.

"It's number 27A," she heard him call.

Henry Higgins stood in the middle of the pavement, as still as a statue. Then he raised his eyebrows, shook his head, and continued walking towards number 27A. As he passed a lamppost, he wrapped his arm around it and spun around it, a broad grin on his face. Yet just as suddenly he was silent, calm and collected. The only indication of any emotion was his eyes, glittering in the night.

The Colonel was dozing, the newspaper long forgotten, when he heard the door fly open and high heels coming up the stairs. There were no voices, only one set of footsteps, and Eliza sounded like she was in a rush. He only caught a glimpse of her as she streaked past his room, but he saw her face aglow.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her door close and a little squeal of excitement from her room.

Pouring himself a congratulatory glass of port, and one for Higgins when he arrived, Pickering smiled.

"Tonight, old man…You did it!"_  
_


End file.
